


Out of the Darkness

by JThistle



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Birth by Sleep - Freeform, F/M, Pre-Canon, Short Chapters, ridiculously over the top sappy and dramatic romance, there's a little bit that's post birth by sleep but it's really only in the beginning, this whole story is told backwards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:40:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JThistle/pseuds/JThistle
Summary: Once upon a time, two lost souls found solace in each other.Rose Chesterly was the daughter of a wicked queen, tasked with learning the dark arts so she could carry out her mother's equally dark wishes."Vanitas" was just that -- the shadowy memorial of someone's pending demise, left to linger in the darkness, desperate to feel something real again.They found strength in each other, but it wasn't enough.





	1. Reunion (Vanitas)

The sea was dark and colorless, and he watched it without moving, most days; even his breaths were more shallow than the steady in and out of the waves, black water on black sands under gray skies; it would have seemed to an onlooker that the only color in the world was that of his own golden eyes, but that was meaningless for him -- he couldn't see his own eyes, so it seemed simply the there was no color left in the world; that he had been saved only to become lost once more.

That was the life he was accustomed to, and he did not stare out on this bleak landscape, in the deepest parts of a stranger's heart, waiting for something or expecting something to change. He only remembered; still, and silent, he replayed the brief life he'd lived over and over in his head. Trying to preserve it or simply unable to leave it be, he wasn't sure, but even as his eyes rested on the rolling waves, his mind traced over the features of her face the way a superstitious man might trace over the lines in a lucky coin.

She was out there somewhere; he knew she was. Maybe she'd even made it to the end of the world, the way they'd promised -- but he was still somewhere out of reach. Somewhere no one could find him; an oubliette created because he'd wanted to fool himself that he could see her again, that his heart could keep beating, that he could still draw breath.

The waves drew back, and folded forward again; they did not carry anything with them, but sometimes in the foam he could almost see a shadow of her; in the whisper of water on sand, sometimes he thought he could hear her voice, and so this was the place he waited; though he'd never longed for the ocean in life, and though neither of them had spent much time on the beach, here was where he found the most of her, and so here was where he stayed, day after day.

Had it been years, now?

Had it been forever?

Could it be forgiven of him that, when the waves receded again, leaving behind the glimpse of a golden head before they drew back in, he didn't move. It was only as her body was driven further inland that he recognized her; his breath sputtered out of him in an unexpected burst, as though he hadn't had enough air in his lungs to gasp, and then he was running down the beach.

He didn't call her name, though he did draw in breath suddenly, his lungs burning in a way they hadn't since he'd been alive; saying anything would have been hope, and he didn't know how to do that yet. He just ran -- another shadow in a shadowy world, that was suddenly remembering what sunlight felt like, what color meant -- and as the water came and went around her, it seemed that she was laying on a bed of gold, as he fell to his knees beside her, water splashing up around both of them as he reached forward to grip her shoulders.

"Rose," he heard her name before he realized he'd spoken it outloud, and that was too much; he almost couldn't breath again, but it was worth it to see her again; it was worth never breathing again if he could see her face, "Rose. . . .!"

It was her, and when she didn't stir, he froze, golden eyes roving over form until he could see that she was breathing, and then he threw himself into the actions of shaking her awake again, "Rose! Rose!"

Eventually, she took a shuddering breath, coughing up salt water, and he changed his tactics, pulling her up out of the water, almost into his lap, and wrapping his arms around her, so he could press into her chest, trying to get whatever water was in it out without actually having to let her go again.

Finally, she sputtered, dark eyes fluttering open, and said his name, "Vanitas. . . ?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and almost flinched as she reached, her hand shaky and nearly numb, to cup the side of his face, only for the frame of his stupid helmet to get in the way. Heaving her against him again, he rebalanced her so that he could free one of his hands and pull it off, tossing it into the water beside them, where it was almost immediately pulled several feet away, "Rose!"  
"Vanitas. . ." she looked like she was about to cry, and Vanitas hastened to do anything he could to comfort her, which at the moment was only to reach up, tangling his fingers with her own as he held her hand to the side of his face, golden eyes searching her black ones, "You're alive. . . !"

He was now; whatever she asked of him, he'd be, and if she wanted him to be alive, he was, "How did you get here?"

"I met. . . the boy," she said, "The one you talked about. Sora. . . . I lent him my heart, so he could fight the darkness."

Her voice was breathy and lost, and he pulled her closer, leaning his head against her own so he could take in her scent, though all there was right now was the smell of saltwater and the damp rot of low tide.

"Vanitas. . . " she said again.

"It's all my fault," he answered; the words came out thickly, as though he'd waited too long to say them -- and he had been waiting for so long, because there was no one to hear them -- and they'd calcified in his throat, "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Her fingers dug into his skin; as though she desperately wanted to say something, but didn't have much strength left to say it, and he leaned in, so she wouldn't have to speak as loudly.

"Vanitas, it'll be okay," she said, "It was never your fault. Please believe me. . . ."

And then she used what little strength she had to push herself up, leaning into him; and she pressed her lips against his own, as though she was offering him her whole being, and in a way she was; he felt his eyes close, so that he could feel her that much more, and though it was a chaste kiss, it seemed to be that there was more between them in that moment than he could tell.

He felt a warmth from her heart that he'd always recognized, somewhere inside, but never had a word for; and he felt it burn through him, and he knew what she was trying to say even if he didn't have the words for that either.

The waves pulled against them and left them behind; the waves pushed against them, and they resisted, and that was the way it had always been.


	2. Reunion (Rose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed an error; Rose referred to Xemnas originally, but it was supposed to be Ansem, whoops!

She recognized the boy immediately; she'd seen his face a thousand and one times, even here at the end of the world, though the colors were a little bit off -- he had nothing of Vanitas's brooding darkness, as though he'd been painted all in warm browns, meant for a cozy cottage, somewhere tragedy had never touched anyone, out of reach of the darkness and war and all the bad things she and Vanitas had borne through together.

He did not recognize her, she didn't think; there was no reason to -- she'd wrapped herself in a silver cloak and pulled the hood up so that it obscured her features, and besides, it was Vanitas who had taken after him -- she'd never been a part of that strange, desperate relationship. Sora had no reason to know she even existed, much less what he meant to her, or what she'd maybe meant to Vanitas.

(It had been long enough since she'd seen him, that sometimes she could convince herself all the feelings she held in her chest were one-sided; all the heartache a lonely burden that she carried by herself. They'd promised to meet here, at the end of the world, after all, and she hadn't seen him for almost a decade since then.)

As Sora and his companions -- a dog and a duck, both clad in the regiments of some sort of royal caste, and the former walking on his hind legs as though he was unaware of the artificiality of the position for someone designed to walk on all fours -- crossed the hallway towards her room, she also crossed to meet them, so that she was standing nearly in the doorway as they entered.

"Greetings," she said, as the three of them stared at her; and it seemed that they weren't going to trust her; Sora's eyes had gone wide at first, and then narrowed, and both his companions had let their hands fall to the weapons at their sides, prepared to fight. Smiling a little, almost apologetically, she reached up, pulling the hood from her face and letting it fall back to her shoulders, "I'm not here to fight."

The two-legged dog gasped, "Gawrsh! It's a person!"

"We can see that, Goofy," the bird on Sora's other side said; he tapped his foot angrily, and Rose tilted her head to the side, wondering if he had anything more to say. If he did, he waited too long to say it -- Sora had reached up, pressing his hand to his temple, as though he suddenly had a headache.

". . . Kairi. . . " was all he said after a moment; Rose nearly asked him what he meant, but without hesitating, he looked up, forcing a broad smile, "If you're not here to fight, then maybe you can help us!"

"That's exactly what I'm here to do," she said, and her own smile felt strained now, as though some part of her still wanted to scream and cry, "I've been watching Ansem for a long time now -- I don't trust what he has planned."

"How do we know we can trust you?" the angry duck demanded, "Careful, Sora, she could be trying to trick us!"

"Donald, stop.I don't. . .think she seems like the type," Sora replied, and his smile seemed less forced now, as though he'd decided they were already friends, "I feel like we can trust her."

Rose inclined her head, "I don't plan on doing anything that could lead you astray. There's not much I can do, anymore. . . all I can offer is my heart."

There were collected gasps from Sora's companions, and Sora actually looked a little panicked, "No, that's okay!"

"A declaration of love?!" Goofy and Donald asked in unison. Sora's face immediately began to turn red, and he huffed, turning away.

"I only like one person," he said, as though he hadn't taken her statement the wrong way too, "You two need to stop it!"

"I don't mean it that way," Rose clarified, "There's also . . .only one person I can feel that way towards."

Donald and Goofy both stared at her for a moment; and Sora nodded, as though he could understand a little of where she was coming from.

"They got hurt, didn't they?" he asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

"She looks so sad. . ." Goofy mumbled to Donald, who hissed at him to be quiet.

Rose could only clutch at her heart; the pain from everything that had happened had never truly faded, and she doubted it ever truly would, "No, I'm afraid that was a long time ago."

Besides, he'd already helped them enough -- though she had no idea how to tell him that. Crossing the last few spaces between them, she reached up, placing her hands on either side of Sora's face, so she could tilt his head slightly.

"I'll just lend it to you for a little while, okay?" she asked, "Please. . . save my sister, and everyone else."

And with that, she pressed her lips to his forehead, willing her heart to him. Without any further warning, she was flung into a bright light, as though she'd flown into the sun; Sora and Donald and Goofy only saw a bright light fall into Sora's chest, but for Rose it was as though the whole world had suddenly been set ablaze.

And then she fell; and the sun seemed to go out; and the world grew dim, and then dark, and she crashed into a dark sea; there were memories here -- but she wasn't sure if they were her own or someone else's and she didn't dare find out.

She felt tears in her eyes; though it seemed impossible to cry in the ocean, she looked up at the distant surface, and she saw her own tears falling up like bubbles, as though she could leave behind her pain and sink into oblivion.

She would never see him again; she'd realized that a long time ago, and yet she'd kept waiting, unable to let him go, and it was the same here, even in this dark ocean. She was sinking, and still she clung to the memory of him, as though it could light her way home, when she'd long ago forgotten where home really was.

Her cloak slipped off her shoulders, blocking out the last glimpse of the dim sky above, and she closed her eyes, and let herself cry for the first time in ten years, and she fell.

Her lips formed his name under the ocean, swallowed up by water and darkness.


	3. Departure (Vanitas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having difficulty posting my chapters and retaining the formatting from when I wrote it TT_TT Hopefully I didn't miss any italics.
> 
> Anyway, I'm ready to write this fic proper! Wish me luck!

The X-blade falls, and Rose doesn't pay it any mind as she runs to him. Anger gives him a rush of power that's almost enough to reach the handle, but it falls just out of reach, and the grunt of effort sounds more pathetic to his ears than anything Ventus has ever done.

Or not done. 

Her skin is burning with exertion as her arms circle around him, as though she has a fever, and when he looks up at her, her face is flushed and her eyes are red; she hasn't stopped crying, and he stares at her with nothing to hide behind -- no mask, no anger, no hatred. He's been stripped bare of everything he knew how to be, and as she strokes his cheek, he wonders if he's crying too -- he hadn't been so aware that there was an icy wind somewhere in Ventus's heart until it brushed against the cold tracks on his face. 

"Rose. . . " he says, "What have you done?" 

"I'm sorry," she says, and she's crying so much he might have mistaken the damp in his eyes as being from her, instead, "I'm sorry. I couldn't let him do it to you. I couldn't let him make you into a weapon. You're more than that, Vanitas. . . I had to stop him." 

The laugh that escapes his throat in a short burst is hysterical, weak, untamed; it's the kind of laugh that belongs to a faceless monster, the kind of laugh he's carefully disguised with mania every other time it's tried to sneak out. He wants to hurt her; he wants to close his fingers around her throat and cast her away because he was this close, he was _so close_. 

"I was never anything but his shadow," he says, "Meet me. . ." 

He's not sure where his mind is going; there is just them -- light and shadow and Rose in a heart that's slowly falling to pieces. He won't be meeting anyone anywhere; he'll be lucky if Rose makes it out alive, never mind himself. 

And what does he want her to survive for? She betrayed him, didn't she? 

He wishes he could move. 

Then he'd show her, he'd show her. 

"At the end of the worlds," he mumbles, "I'll . . . show you . . . ." 

"Vanitas, hold on," she says, like there's any hope for him; like there's anywhere for him but here, "Hold on to me." 

He does; he hates to admit it, but he's clinging to her out of desperation and fear and the need for her to be solid and real and there. He hates to admit it, but the tears running down his face are his and they're for her. For everything he didn't give her, for everything he wanted to have but couldn't take. 

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, wondering at the irony of it all, and he feels himself going numb now, all the way through; he sees himself not as a person anymore, but as a shadow, drifting up around her like smoke, and his eyes search her face, trying to memorize her features. 

Her short, loose blond hair, with two matching tiny braids tied in the front, and dark eyes that he could fall into; her round face is wan, flushed and pale at the same time, and he thinks there's a bruise at her temple. If he could lift his arm, he'd press his fingers to it, like he could soothe her pain with force of will, but he can't move; he's not even sure how much of his arms are left, if he even really has hands, or just the memories of them. 

_What happened to you?_ he wants to ask, _Where were you?_

But he doesn't know how; he doesn't know what answer's he's really looking for. 

"Vanitas, look at me," she says, and he does, refocusing on her face; he hadn't been aware that his vision had gone out of focus until she spoke, but he tries. For her. He tries to stay with her for as long as he can. 

"Don't cry," he says, "Don't cry for me. Meet me. . . ." 

"At the end of the worlds," she finishes, and she pulls him closer, so that she can curl over the remains of his body, embraced by darkness but not overtaken, "I'll find you. Vanitas, no matter what it takes, I'll find you again." 

That's what she was doing here, he realizes dully; she hadn't betrayed him, siding with the light because that was where she belonged; she hadn't finally realized she was worth so much more than him, gold to his dirt; she'd been looking for him. 

"Vanitas," she says, and he thinks he should say something to comfort her, but the only thing he can think to say is her name, and when he tries to open his mouth, he finds he can't. 

He can't feel his face; he can't feel anything but her -- warm, so warm that it seems she burns him a little, and it's still not enough. He needs to remember her, needs to be clinging to her with all he has, but he has nothing. 

He's never had anything. This is what it means to die a dog's death, he thinks, and tries again to say her name. 

"Vanitas!" she calls again, but sharper, more afraid, and he knows this is the end; there's nothing left after this, but at least he's dying with her name on his lips, like a kiss. Or maybe it's not her name, but the wicked, hysteric laugh that had echoed their first meeting. 

He begins and ends with her, he wants to say; but that would be a lie -- he begins and ends with Ventus. 

Rose was just everything that happened in the middle. 

"R. . ." he manages, and then there's nothing but darkness; he has a vague memory of her face, looking up as he disintegrates around her, and he clings to that memory with his whole being. 

The nothing is almost peaceful. 

The nothing is almost enough.


End file.
